


Happy Birthday, Peter Pan

by Missy



Series: Happy Birthday, Peter Pan [1]
Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Animal Abuse, Gen, Intrigue, Kid Fic, Slice of Life, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ms. Reynolds is murdered by a man who's an old enemy of Sam's, he finds himself juggling the raising of an infant and the violence of a remorseless psychopath who will stop at nothing short of the total and utter destruction of Sam's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The service was packed. Fiona and Michael had a hard time navigating the mass of people crowding the small penthouse in downtown Miami, but somehow they managed, heads down and eyes a little somber.

Sam usually occupied the center of the room at any gathering, but today he sat as far away from the crowd of SEALs wandering awkwardly through the living room. On the balcony he sat, back to the crowd, still in his dark suit, holding a soft, dark-swaddled bundle to his chest.

Michael approached him at a cautious pace, watching Sam's face. His eyes were entire focused on the little pajama-clad figure huddled against his chest.

"How're you holding up, Sam?" Michael wondered.

Sam didn't look up. "I'm all right. Little Sammy's been fussy all day."

"Really, Sam? At a funeral?" Fi asked, somewhat scandalized.

"It's what he's calling the baby, Fi." Michael sat down beside Sam and awkwardly watched the twosome. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Get the bastards with kills Ms. Reynolds," Sam said, unequivocating to the end.

Mike and Fi exchanged glances. "We've got some news."

Sam sat upright, nearly dropping little Sammy as he adjusted his position. "Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."

Michael stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. "It's Graystone."

Sam's arms tightened around the bundle upon his chest. "I knew that son of a bitch wasn't gonna come back."

Fiona leaned against the rail. "Who is Graystone, anyway?"

Sam began to pet Little Sammy's back. "I did things I wasn't proud of during the Cold War. Graystone was my partner in crime."

Fiona arched a brow and gave Michael a significant glance, but he didn't respond with more information. "So now he wants revenge."

"On anyone and everyone close to me." He held the baby tighter.

"Do you know where he's getting his arms?"

"We aren't exactly bar buddies, Mike," Sam replied.

Michael shot Fi a pleading look. Fiona sighed. "I'll start asking my contacts in Tunesia if they know anything about him; someone I know has to have some dirt on him."

"Thanks, Mike. Keep a closer eye on Maddie for me."

"Can do. Sam?" Sam turned his head to watch Michael. "Stay safe. Both of you."

 

***

The sound of a crying baby woke Sam two hours later. Blearily, he rubbed his eyes and wondered how first-time parents could stand the lack of sleep.

He crawled to the edge of the bed, and the bassinette in which he'd placed little Sammy. The little boy was wet and hungry – Sam changed the diaper awkwardly but efficiently, then took the baby into the kitchen with him.

"There you go – nice and dry." Sam tucked the baby close to his chest and put a pot of water on for his son's bottle. Peering out the kitchen window as he heated a pan of water, Sam studied every bush before turning away, plunking the bottle into the bubbling pot.

"Now," Sam declared, "while you have your bottle…" he went to the fridge, grabbed a beer and headed back to the bedroom, "I'll have mine." He chuckled wickedly to himself before sitting down with the baby, drinking in tandem with the boy.

He watched little Sammy feed and marveled for the millionth time at their close family resemblance. With his dark eyes and heavy lashes, Sam couldn't have denied the boy if he wanted to. But there were a few features that he and the boy didn't share.

"You have your mom's nose," he noted. "You would've loved getting to know her, kid – not half as much as she loved you." Sammy made a soft cooing sound around the plastic nipple. "I hope she knows I'm not mad at her anymore. I get now that she went off and had you in California to keep you safe; I'm not gonna waste time being mad at her for not telling me about you until later. But then she knew I was missing out without you around. I was a jerk for awhile – glad you won't remember I said that. But she came back so that I could keep you safe. And I'm gonna make sure you know every day what a great gal she was." The baby pouted. "What? We're gonna make a great team…"

A pane of glass shattered somewhere in the kitchen, caused Sam to reach for his gun. He carried little Sammy clutched under his arm like a prized football, his eyes climbing the walls, checking every window.

He nearly tripped over the brick lying two inches from the threshold to the living room. A cool breeze blew in from the front window, which had been splintered. A flash of light from a passing car illuminated something

His eyes widened when he realized it was a cat, and that the poor thing had been pinned to the wall by its tongue, its stomach slit from throat to belly.

Pinned to its collar was a large piece of paper with a bluntly-worded note.

_Got mamma cat. Coming for the kitten soon._


	2. Chapter 2

Fiona stretched an arm over Michael's shoulder, murmuring her contentment. "I should make seviche every night."

Michael gave her a grin as he rolled his shoulder, settling them comfortably on their backs. It was a silent, calm night, one so rare that he wanted to wallow in it for as long as fate would allow.

Fate decided to disapprove of his calmness two seconds after he started drifting off to sleep. The frantic knock at his door sent him upright and his right hand under his pillow, withdrawing the Beretta.

Fiona was already on her feet with her Glock, the sheet knotted over her breasts. Michael used the pillow as a cover, keeping his gun trained on the door.

As the door rolled open, his muscles tightened, ready to lunge forward and protect Fi. But the person who strode into the loft was a familiar face, carrying a less-familiar but unthreateningly tiny one.

"Why the hell didn't you answer the phone?" Sam asked, carrying baby Sammy on his hip, an oversized assault rifle tucked under his right armpit. He strode nonchalantly into the kitchen and automatically retrieved a beer from the icebox.

"We shut them off," Michael replied inanely, wrapping himself in the blanket.

"I wouldn't interrupt you guys if it weren't important," he replied. "It's Graystone. The son of a bitch got into the penthouse."

Fi and Michael exchanged quick looks. "Do you want to stay…"

Sam was already headed upstairs to the loft, the baby in his arm and a beer in his free hand. He turned around and glanced over his shoulder. "Did I interrupt something?"

Fiona glowered as she gathered her clothing from the floor. "Only the usual," Michael declared, as she stomped off to dress in the bathroom.

***

Mike awoke the following morning at sunrise, just as Sammy crying. He brushed a hand over the cool pillow beside him, feeling Fiona's absence. She had offered to stay and keep watch for Sam, but he had insisted she go watch over Maddie.

He squirmed into his boxers under the covers, climbing up the loft stairs to the upper level. Sam was changing Sammy's diaper on the drafting table, using paper clips and pencils to hold the dirty disposable down.

"You're buying me a new desk set," Michael said by way of greeting, hanging back until Sam had finished and begun washing his hands.

"Put it on my tab," Sam said cheerfully. Little Sammy had been dressed in a Detroit Lions onesie, and in it he would remain until his father returned to the Penthouse to grab them fresh clothing. Sam snapped the kid back into it before picking him up and tossing the paper towel he'd used as a changing mat over his shoulder. "Do you and Fi have any fresh leads?"

"She called her people in Tunisia last night. Graystone owes a guy named Trexler forty thousand. He apparently bought a case of high-grade explosives from someone in Sri Lanka. He said he was planning on scaring a the owner of a Colorado silver mine with it – nothing too major, nothing too life-threatening."

"It doesn't smell right," Sam declared. "He could make his own. That means…"

"…he's using the explosives as a cover for something else," Michael said. "Fi's calling Lucy this morning, we should be meeting her for lunch at Carlitos. Until then, how do you feel about breakfast?"

"Strength in numbers, right?" Sam asked.

"You don't look good," Michael observed, awkwardly waving back at Sammy. The baby stared over his father's shoulder, watching Michael with Sam's suspicious eyes.

"I didn't sleep," Sam confessed. "We've gotta take care of him, Mike," Sam declared. "For Sammy."

"We will. But first, breakfast."


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Sam and Michael made it to Carlitos little Sammy’s good mood had disappeared; he screamed and wailed when Sam plucked him from his car seat. Rocking and bouncing the baby, he followed Michael into the restaurant, and every patron followed their progress inside.

“Lucy,” Michael shouted to be heard over the din, “you remember Sam. And Sam’s son.”

Lucy wrinkled her nose and glanced across the table. “I can hear the family resemblance,” she said. “Hi, Sam.”

“Hey, Luce.” Sam bounced his son in his arms, but the baby was inconsolable.

“So, what’s the problem?” Lucy shouted. “Is it….”

“It’s not our problem – it’s Sam’s.” Michael glanced at his friend. “Maybe you should take him into the men’s room…”

But Sam was distracted. “I don’t get it! I just changed him, I gave him a bottle of the formula he likes…” Sammy thudded his little fist against Sam’s chest in discontent.

“Maybe the sound of your voice,” Fiona smirked, sipping her blueberry smoothie.

A sly look crossed Sam’s face. “Hey, you’re a woman…” Fi’s nose wrinkled at Sam’s insinuation, “babies like something soft to cuddle up to…”

“You’re thinking of your Navy buddies…Sam!” He managed to plop Sammy into Fiona’s arms before she could protest. Fi glanced down at the baby and gave him a wry look. “Well…”

Sammy took one look at Fi, screwed up his face and wailed.

“Sam,” Fiona glared.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” Sam replied, reaching for the baby. Fi reached out to hand the wailing baby back to Sam, who shook his head. “Pass him to Mikey,” he suggested.

Michael shook his head. “I don’t think I should…” But the second Sammy was deposited in Michael’s arms, the baby stopped crying. Awkwardly, he smiled and let the baby wrap his fingers around his.

“You’re a natural, Mike,” Sam declared. “One naughty French maid, Anita!” Sam shouted.

“Could we please get on with this?” Fiona asked. “I have a client meeting at four.”

“You’re booking clients without us?” Michael wondered.

“One of my grenade dealers is in trouble with his wife,” she shrugged. “It’s a surveillance detail, you’d be bored. And I think we should stop boring Lucy with our little soap opera and get down to the details.”

Sam watched his son contentedly play with Michael’s shirt buttons. “Have you ever heard of a guy named Graystone?”

Lucy rose a brow. “Graystone?”  
‘  
“Just Graystone. He works in tech ops on the Ivory Coast, but he used to be a petty arms runner,” Sam replied. “He’s been trying to get rid of all the links to his dirty past, and I’m one of them.”

“How dire is this?”

Sam glanced down at his hands. “We think he killed Ms….Sammy’s mother.”

“I’m sorry.” Lucy replied quietly. “I’ve got some contacts in Africa that I’d be glad to ask for you. “

“He’s been threatening Sam recently, and it seems to tie into some dealings with some Tunisians,” Michael said.

“We’re trying to figure out what he’d be doing with a shipment of medium-grade Tuniasian explosives,” Fiona explained.

“I’ll do what I can to help,” promised Lucy. “As soon as we eat!”

“Sounds great to me,” Sam declared. “Anyone else want a burger?”

Michael glanced at Sammy. “You expect me to keep holding this baby?”

Sam grinned. “Only until he graduates college.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Michael make progress in finding Graystone's motivation; Michael and Fiona contemplate the idea of their own child.

"I don't get it, Mike." Sam said, shoving down another mouthful of roast beef sandwich.

Michael looked up from the car keys he'd been dangling for Sammy. "You keep saying that," he replied, as the baby let out a squall of discontent and reached for the brass rings.

"That's because it's not getting any less complex," Sam remarked, shuffling the papers again. "I can't figure it out, Mike - maybe you could take a look?"

Michael shrugged, picking up Sammy, who kicked and squealed as he was hoisted aloft. He only noticed the grin on Sam's face when he approached the drafting table. "What?"

"Looks like you and Sammy are getting along." He wrapped an arm around the boy, plucking him with smooth efficiency from Michael's grip. He masked his amusement at Michael's obvious surprise at Sam's deftness with the baby.

"He's like you - easy to quiet down after you shove a bottle in his mouth." Michael replied. The baby gave him a toothless grin over Sam's shoulder, and he had to suppress a smile.

"Harsh. If you keep talking like that, I won't let you be his godfather."

"I'm already his godfather, Sam. You can't revoke foxhole promises."

"Fair enough." Sam opened another manila folder, spinning it around with his free hand and pushing it in Michael's direction. "Take a look at these."

Michael scanned the documents. They weren't documentation for the guns, but instead rather familiar paperwork for passports. "He's getting Visas?"

"Lucy found four records of citizenship," Sam said, picking up his beer with his free hand, "one for a Nette Cello, Darla Gilespe, Timmy Cole and Cubby Breen."

"Obvious cover names." Michael remarked.

Sam tipped his beer in Michael's direction. "He always loved the Mickey Mouse Club." He gestured with the beer before putting it down again. "My best guess? He's using these four clowns to launder what he earned from the arms sales. They get citizenship, he gets cheap labor."

"We'll have Fi run the names..."

"Already ran them," Sam tossed another stack of papers onto the pile. "Didn't find records for anyone but Nette. She's seventy, living out in Coral Gable, which is probably why she didn't make up a fresh alias - who the hell's gonna come looking for an old lady?"

"Have any addresses?"

"One in the 05's." He showed Michael as slip of paper filled with contact details. As he handed them over, Sam let out a huge yawn.

"You need a nap," Michael remarked.

He rubbed his tired eyes. "So does Sammy." The little boy had, in fact, curled up against Sam's collarbone, his snuffling, sweet-smelling weight a visible comfort to his father.

"I'll go check it out with Fi." Michael was already donning his sunglasses and putting his well-pressed jacket on. "Keep the door locked."

"Fine," Sam replied, getting up from the drafting table. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Of course," Michael replied.

"And if you do," Sam continued, carrying the baby downstairs, "name it after me."

***

"Name it after him?" Fiona scoffed, placing her binoculars in her lap. "The mouth on that man! What did you say next?"

"I let him have his fun," Michael replied. "Sam doesn't need to know that we've already had the baby discussion." Michael caught a glimmer of regret in Fiona's expression, but before he could remark upon it her look had changed to cone more determined.

"Our pineapple princess is in sight," she said. Michael glanced in their rear-view mirror; they had parked several feet away, near an abandoned restaurant; their binoculars and mirrors still gave them both excellent views of what was going on upon the woman's dilapidated porch.

Their target was a caucasian woman of roughly eighty, slightly stooped, wearing a powder-blue muumuu and shuffling from flowerbed to flowerbed with a small green watering can.

"Is Missus Badcrumble ready?" Michael asked. Fiona had already donned a sensible red business suit - as she tied back her hair Michael handed her a clipboard - she looked every inch the concerned welfare worker, looking to make sure her charge's checks were getting through.

"Aye aye, govnah!" Her exaggerated English accent made him smirk. "Hailing frequencies set?"

"To stun. You know what to do."

She pecked his cheek. "I hope the baby has your dimples."

Michael's features collapsed into a scowl. "Fiona, that's not..." The closing of the car door cut him off. With a sigh, Michael slumped into his seat, picking up her binoculars, the wire pasted to his ear crackling to life. If they got this woman to crack, they'd have the answer to Sam's problems in hand.

The only thing he could do was watch and wait.

***

In Michael's bed, Sam held his son to his chest. Sammy had drowsed off instantly, and Sam - finally, was headed in the same direction. His last thought as he finally drifted off to sleep was of Sammy's smallness; held in hands trained to kill, he seemed infinitely precious and vulnerable. Sam wondered for the millionth time as he drowsed away how this little kid could possibly be his to foster for life.

Neither of them heard the door of the loft creek open....


	5. Chapter 5

Sam wheeled around in the direction of the door, pointing it, praying for once that he wouldn’t need to actually use it. When he saw Madeline standing there with an amused expression on her face.

“You should have a Lugar. It makes an easy, clean kill.” Sam gave her an incredulous look. “They just had a murder trial on my story.”

“Geez, Maddie.” Beside him, Sammy giggled happily.

“Heyy Sammy,” she crooned, reaching for the baby. He kicked eagerly as he went to Madeline. “Did we scare daddy?”

“You’re lucky I’m too young for Depends,” Sam replied, scrubbing a hand across his face. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know. Michael told me to come check on you – the cab’s outside waiting for his fare, by the way.”

Sam groaned. “You couldn’t’ve gotten it yourself?”

“I could have, but I left my wallet at home,” she replied. With a groan, Sam got up, planning the entire time to lie back down when he returned. Haggling with the cabbie took two minutes, and by then Madeline was already in the kitchen, Sammy sitting in his high chair eating baby food.

And she was cooking.

“Mad,” Sam said, “you don’t have to do that…” he looked at the pot of stuff boiling on the stove and gulped. “Whatever it is.”

“It’s about time you and the baby had a home-cooked meal,” she insisted. “Go set the table,” she instructed, “the stew will be ready in a couple of hours.”

Sam groaned. “I was praying for more shut eye.”

“To the wrong God, Sam,” Madeline replied. “You got me.”

To his boon, and perhaps his everlasting regret, he knew she was right.

****

Michael held the two-way receiver in his hand, listening to Fiona’s polite conversation with Nette. The older woman had retired there a few days ago, and wasn’t the weather beautiful? Michael zoned out, catching sight of someone across the street.

Two men in blue mover’s uniforms. Carrying small bags. Far too small to make hiring their efforts practical…

…Unless they were working under cover for someone.

He wheeled around, whispering in Fi’s ear, “I think I’ve got something on the West Side, Fi. Can you handle this yourself?”

“Oh sure,” Fi said, answering in her plummy English accent. “Why else would I be sitting in the middle of Florida on such a day as this.”

Smirking, Michael turned toward the movers. Finally, the ‘owner’ of the house emerged, doddering, his white suit crisp in the afternoon light.

It was the face of Grastone.

And he was staring straight at Michael with unforgiving dark eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gets into hot water with Greystone while Maddie entertains Sam.

Sam dipped his spoon into the fragrant stew, inhaling its scent while Madeline dipped out a bowl for herself. He’d been unable to consume much for the past couple of days, but the dish she’d placed before him was incredibly tempting.

He took one tentative spoonful in, and then another. He hummed, surprised, by how good it was. “Hey, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it, Mad. This is out of this world.”

“It’s from a can,” she growled, and Sam winced.

“Sorry,” he coughed. “Well, here’s to Dinty Moore.”

Sammy burbled and smacked his palms into the highchair’s top, scattering Cheerios everywhere. Madeline grumbled and bent to pick them up. “You’re almost as messy as daddy,” she declared, and then rolled her eyes and took a sip of soda.

Sam self-consciously dabbed his face with the napkin. “Sorry I’m not James Dean.”

She sighed, and gently patted Sammy’s cheeks. “You know, I think he has your eyes.”

Sam chuckled. “He has my everything. Ms. Reynolds…” he paused, and continued on, “she always said it looked like I was the one who gave birth to him. Like she didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Madeline patted his hand, spooning a last gloppy dollop of baby food into Sammy’s eager mouth. “He’s got her lips,” she suggests.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He slugged down more of his Coke and finished the bowl of stew. “Want more?”

“I could stand it,” she said. “Want to play poker after Sammy’s nap?”

“Sure,” Sam replied. “I’ve got all night.”

And he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping until he saw Mike and Fi again.

***

Michael kept his gaze evenly upon Greystone – before leaping right.

“HEY!” he shouted. “You’ve in my driveway!”

“Excuse me?” Greystone’s eyebrows collided with the bridge of his nose.

“I said this is my driveway!! Get out or I’ll call the cops!”

The old stun-the-enemy-into-submission-with-your-insane-cover-so-they-think-you’re-no-threat move tended to work brilliantly on the fly. Even with Greystone’s level of experience. He full well expected the man to let him go, thinking him a harmless if well-dressed nutcase.

Life as a spy had trained Michael to be alert, well-prepared, sharply-focused and ready for battle.

It didn’t provide him protection against two-by-fours to the back of the head. The kind swung by enforcers with enough force to render him quickly unconscious.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam races the clock to rescue Sam from Greystone.

Michael’s vision swam quickly back into focus as he blinked his eyes against the blindingly bright light shining down on him. A tug of his wrists informed him that they’d taken enough care to tie him to the bed; further self-examination told him he was bruised but in decent enough shape. He’d survive if he gathered his wits.

“I see our guest is awake.” Michael very carefully turned his head. Greystone eyed him from across a flimsy card table, his fingers steepled together and his gaze intense. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me why you were lurking around outside of my house?”

Michael instantly adopted his half-remembered cover ID. “You were on my lawn! I know my rights, and you can’t just trespass on another man’s property!”

“The home next door belongs to an elderly woman. You’re lying to me, Mister Westen.” Michael covered his anger and frustration with a blasé tone. “I’ve stalked Mister Axe’s every move over the past fifteen years. Did you think you were an unknown quantity to me?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, man,” Michael whined. “What kind of name is Sam Axe? It sounds like some kinda comic book hero…”

“Get comfortable, Mister Westen,” declared Greystone. “We’re going to be sitting here for quite a long time. Once Sam figures out you’re gone, he and your little girlfriend will run right to us.” He smiled. “Won’t it be delightful to watch them both bleed?”

Michael’s head slumped, and he waited for the familiar sound of a man heavily loaded with artillery slinking away, the turn of a knob and the slide of a door, before lifting his head. He knew Greystone had lifted his phone, and not bothering to check his pockets he scanned the room for something to use while subtly rubbing his clothesline-rope bonds against the back of his chair.

Michael’s eyes lit upon a ballpoint pen left sitting on the table. Hope lit his veins, and he renewed his subtle shredding of his bonds.

***

Sam flung himself awake as his phone suddenly went off. Sammy wailed from the temporary crib beside his bed, and he reached for and swaddled the infant close to his chest before picking it up.

“Mike?”

Fiona panted into the phone. “They have him,” Fi said briefly. “We have to meet somewhere far away from Madeline’s.”

“Carlitos?”

“Yes! Don’t bring Sammy!”

How stupid did Fiona think he was? He gently kissed the baby’s forehead and passed him to a blearily awake Madeline.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, watching Sam frantically change into something less auspicious and run his fingers through his hair. “Sam!”

“Take care of him for me,” he ordered quickly, kissing the baby’s forehead.

She didn’t remark as he grabbed an arsenal of guns and rushed out the door to find Fiona.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to track down Fiona, and Michael charts a daring escape

Sam had to drive four miles out of town to the place Fiona had selected – a half-deserted beach café with sun-bleached umbrellas and half-broken neon signs in red and blue. She wore a picture hat and huge white cork heels drinking an orange soda near the front counter, and that was how Sam recognized her. His approach was cautious.

Their eyes met. In a minute, he also recognized the tenseness of her posture, the bruises on her wrists, and way her eyes held his. 

“Sam,” she said deliberately. “I’m so glad to see you…”

He knew right away from her clipped tone that something was wrong. She likely wasn’t wired for explosives; too messy, too much sound. If they had a wire on her, they’d have to be quiet.

Sam reached out for her. He tapped her hand, twice, gently, upon the palm. Their old signal. If she had a gun trained on her, the code for salvation was to blink twice.

She did.

“My God…” his eyes scanned the seabrush nearby. He saw it rustle. A black hat. It would be on his reflexes now. “What a nice night.”

That meant duck. Fiona’s eyes widened. He rolled his – damn it, why did she have to make a production out of everything? He threw his arms around he head and middle of her spine – protecting her vital points as he rolled them both to the ground.

The bullet missed his arm by inches – it singed his body hair as they huddled under the cement benches.

“Did you bring back-up?” Fiona hissed. 

Sam smirked and held out a gun. He had his own. Alternating, they took shots until they heard several cries.

Fi buried a bullet into the shoulder of one, and Sam took out two more before the smoke cleared.

Fiona’s grin was confident as they rose to their feet and headed toward the parking lot. “Well, I knew you were good for something,” she teased.

“Cut it crap,” he teased her, “And get in.”

*** 

Across town, Michael had managed to whittle himself free of his restraints. In the blink of an eye, he reached over and grabbed a ballpoint pen from the counter, then pumped the ink out onto the floor. There was a bottle of drain cleaner lying right out in the open.

Ink has a special property – an explosive one, specific to this brand of pen. All it needed was a spark from a lighter – which he still had from Sam, borrowed from their last job.

A lighter and a flick of the made Michael’s escape. 

He was scaling the wall when he felt the bullet singe into his shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Fi race to save Michael, but Grayson isn't through with them yet...

Michael Westen knew too well what getting shot felt like. The sudden singe of his flesh burning and the scent of something meatlike sizzling its way into his nostrils. He shuddered, ducking and rolling as he threw his leg over the wire fencing. 

One more screamed by his shoulder as he rolled toward the ground, moving toward the shriek of tires screeching as they turned over on the gravel road. He knew the sound of the Charger better than anything, even the cadence of Fiona’s driving. He threw open the door and ducked inside when Sam slowed down just enough to allow Michael to duck in.

***

“Hey Mike, nice of you to drop in.”

“…That was a sub Bond villain level joke,” Michael complained fondly. 

“Are you all right?” Fiona worried.

“It’s just a scratch,” he insisted. Then Sam’s phone rang, and the older man picked it up.

“Sam!” It was Madeline’s hysterical voice on the line. “Oh God, I’m so sorry Sam.”

“What’s happening?” he asked, alarm seizing his guts.

“Someone knocked me out when I was changing Sammy’s diaper. By the time I woke up he was gone.” She sobbed into his ear. “They have Sammy!”

“Stay where you are. I’m gonna send Mikey and Fi to watch out for you.” He hung up. “You’ve gotta take me back.” 

“Sam, it’s too risky!” Michael said.

“Either you’re taking me back or I’m commandeering this car. Grayson’s got my kid.”

The twosome shared a knowing look, and Fi pulled over. It was a four mile walk back to the holding area, but Sam sprinted it in less than five minutes.

He climbed a fence and knocked out a guard with the flat of his hand – he stabbed a recon guy and killed another with a chair. Five minutes later he stood, bloody but unbowed, on the roof of the complex.

And there stood Grayson, with a sleeping Sammy cradled in his arms.

“Such a beautiful child, Mister Axe, “ said Grayson. “You remember that I had my own beautiful child once, don’t you? My little Masha, with her blonde hair and beautiful smile. You killed her, Mister Axe…”

“I didn’t mean to. Nobody on the team expected her to be in that building. We had intell that you wife had moved out a week ago and took the kids. The whole building was supposed to be clear. We don’t go around killing kids in my line of work, buddy – I swear we never meant to hurt her.”

“Will any of your intel bring back my daughter?” he asked, eyes glassy.

Sam cringed. An evil smile crossed Grayson’s face as he slowly extended his arms. 

“No!” Sam shouted. “I’ll do anything – I’ll even let you kill me – before I let you hurt my boy.”

Grayson slowly pulled Sammy closer to his chest. “Death would be too easy for you,” he said. “I must think of the best way to break your soul, Mister Axe. Please…indulge me a moment of thought.” He leaned backward, against a rusty-looking support beam.

Quicker than a pulsebeat, Sam unholstered his gun and drilled a single bullet into the support behind Grayson. It was the perfect distraction – he released the baby in search of firmer support, and Sam lunged forward, grabbing the baby in mid-fall.

His next bullet went right through Grayson’s forehead.

In the aftermath, Sam glanced down into his son’s face and chuckled softly.

The kid had slept through the whole thing.

“You’re an Axe all right, sonny boy,” he declared, then bundled up the baby and carried him toward the safety of home.

THE END


End file.
